On the Move
by Mockingjaybird
Summary: Neville is sick of running. Sick of hiding. Sick of being on the move. Written for Last Man Standing Competition.


**AN: Written for the Last Man Standing Competition. My prompt was "****Anything would be better than this, even Gran's nagging and her permanent scowl and her hideous vulture hats." I do not own Harry Potter. **

...

His chest heaved. His lungs burned. This was no way to live life. Not at all. Especially not in his Seventh Year. Neville was currently hiding behind a long tapestry, his right bicep throbbing and bleeding from being hit by one of his pursuer's spells. He was here because the Carrow siblings had finally put the pieces together that he was the leader of the revived Dumbledore's Army, the one who had orchestrated all the late night rescues and recruiting.

Neville had been minding his own business, walking down a corridor with Cho Chang, discussing a Herbology paper that was due in a few days, when he saw them. Slytherins, a gang of them, strode towards him and Cho with such purpose, that students were scrambling to move from their path. Theodore Nott headed the group, with some others that Neville didn't recognize, and it was only until Nott screamed his name down the corridor that Neville stopped in his tracks with Cho.

"Longbottom!"

Neville backed up and ran, and the chase began. He sprinted down the long corridor, throwing spell after spell behind him, dodging the ones that came his way. He took a hard right and then a left, his calves burning and his mind racing. They followed right on his tail, and a spell whizzed straight into Neville's right arm, sending him stumbling forward. The spell had cut him deeply, and blood began rushing out of the wound, but he had to keep going. The next spell Neville cast sent one of the Slytherins crashing to the ground, his entire body unable to move. That stopped the entire operation for a moment, because someone had tripped over the body. Neville gathered up all the strength his own body could muster and sped down the hallway and around another corner. He hid behind the first thing he could think of, a long, thick tapestry that no one would detect him by.

Neville tried as hard as he could to still his breath, leaning his head back against the stone wall. His shirt sleeve was stained with blood and his arm stung. Careless footsteps suddenly echoed down the corridor, voices yelling to each other and swearing. They were coming for him.

"Where the hell is he?" one voice asked.

"Keep looking!" Nott barked. "Come on out, Longbottom. We swear we won't hurt you," there was a pause, before a smirk crept into his voice, "much."

Neville knew it was only a matter of time before they came down on him, trapping him in his place. He held his breath as he could feel them moving up and down the width of the tapestry, contemplating what to do.

"Let's split up," Nott said and Neville relaxed. "You two go that way, and we'll go this way." Neville listened as the series of footsteps receded completely, and slowly made his way out from behind the tapestry. He needed a better place to hide, and it suddenly came to him. While others had preferred common rooms and libraries, Hogwarts had become Neville's hiding place. And there was one place in particular that he could maneuver to perfectly. Within twenty minutes and two close calls, Neville finally made his way outside. The sun was beginning to set and for the first time, Neville felt peaceful. But he was not out of the woods yet.

He quickly made a beeline towards the greenhouses, checking behind himself every few minutes in fear that he was being followed. With the greenhouses in view, he ran for it. He picked his most favorite one, Greenhouse Two, and was relieved when he found it unoccupied. A shadow loomed over the greenhouse, as Neville sat down in a corner of the room.

As he leaned against the greenhouse window, Neville sighed. Anything would be better than this, even Gran's nagging and her permanent scowl and her hideous vulture hats. Merlin, how he missed her. At least with her, back home, there would be someone who was always on his side in the end. Not here, where he was in a sea full of hunters and he was the lone lion. He always had to hand it to his Gran, being the age she was and taking care of him for seventeen years of his life after his parents' torture and having to deal with his nervous disposition when he was younger.

Ever since Fifth year, after the Battle at the Department of Mysteries, there was something different about Gran whenever she was around him. She looked at him with a little more kindness in her eyes and when she spoke about him to others, her voice got a bit more proud. She could see his courageousness coming out, something she thought she'd never see in him. And when he had said goodbye to her this past September before heading off to school, she hugged him just a little bit tighter and a little bit longer. And she had warned him not to do anything that could get him expelled this year. Some warning that was.

The glass panes on the greenhouse began to fog up from the cold as Neville drew his arms around himself. The moon appeared bright and distorted from the ceiling and suddenly, Neville didn't care anymore. He was sick of running. He was sick of hiding. He was sick of always being on the move. If they found him, so be it. He would fight until the end.

The more Neville stared at the moon, the more he felt his eyelids droop. He figured he had been sitting there for three, four hours perhaps? There was no way he was going to make an effort to get back inside tonight. Neville let his eyes completely close on him, and he slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

Hours later, from dreamland, Neville could feel the warmth of the sun enter the greenhouse. Suddenly, someone prodded his shoulder lightly.

"G-Gran?" He opened his blurry eyes slowly, righted his head from its slumped position on his right shoulder.

"Oh, no, Mister Longbottom," said a familiar voice. "It's Professor Sprout."

Neville's eyes snapped open wide, and he scrambled to straighten his body up, a wave of pain coursing through his arm. "Oh...Professor, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Longbottom, I need you to listen to me," she said, her grey brows furrowing in concern. "There's a search party looking for you and they will try to kill you if they find you."

"I know, I know."

"You're not safe here. I heard they were going to check the greenhouses within the hour."

Neville groaned as he began to stand up, his body stiff and sore from his sleeping position. "Thanks for the information, Professor. I guess I'll be on my way then."

Neville started for the door, his beloved plants beginning to perk up from their own slumber. Professor Sprout stopped him. "Neville," she said, staring at him with a slight frown on her weathered face that suddenly reminded him of Gran, "be careful."

He gave her a small smile. "I will be Professor."

And he was on the move again.

...


End file.
